


Hold

by Riastarstruck



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Bondage, Canon Compliant, Consensual, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild S&M, Past Abuse, Sharing a Bed, Spoilers through Series 3, post series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riastarstruck/pseuds/Riastarstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t about Allison. Maybe that was the strangest thing about it, she was Chris’s only daughter and Isaac’s first love. The truth was she had nothing to do with what developed between them beyond being the force that ensured their lives collided. </p><p>A look at Chris Argent and Isaac post Series 3 in France. They learn to deal with their issues, live together and find comfort in each other, however unconventional and strange it may seem. </p><p>An bit of an exploration into Chris's past and how it effects his decisions and the way he acts, as well as the way Isaac has learnt to deal with the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Teen Wolf fic and my first Fic in a LOOONG time, as a result, it is unbeta'ed and pretty much straight from my finger tips, so sorry for any mistakes/blunders :P
> 
> Chris and Isaac develop a bit of an unhealthy relationship, not explicit but if anyone finds this uncomfortable or doesn't approve of a tentative step towards a BDSM relationship between a grown man and a teenage werewolf then its best not to read. 
> 
> I wanted to explore Chris's upbringing a little bit and see how that effects the way he deals with situations like the end of Series 3 and how it would lead him to interact with someone with Isaac's past and personality, it was an interesting thing to explore so I decided to share!

It wasn’t about Allison. Maybe that was the strangest thing about it, she was Chris’s only daughter and Isaac’s first love. The truth was, she had nothing to do with what developed between them beyond being the force that ensured their lives collided.

Chris was raised in violence, he did everything he could to ensure his daughter never had to experience that. Discovering the seedy supernatural underbelly of your family when you were a teenager was, in some ways, a much better way of learning about it all. There’s the chance of you coming out of it with your sanity intact. You’ve lived long enough to develop a few traits which are entirely you own, but you are still young enough to believe _father knows best_. 

Allison handled it better then so many did, like Chris always knew she would. She had the potential to change it all, to bring the hunting world out of the dark ages and become a force for good -not just barely restrained chaos, a microcosm of the creatures they hunted. She was smart enough, kind enough and stern enough to have made the right decisions.

Chris knew he was no saint. He had no hope to be, he was raised to take on the mantle, to be a soldier of light and to hunt the creatures of the night.

He was the best there was. He was faster, stronger and a better study than anyone else. For years he had accepted his place, taken his orders and trusted in the wisdom of those chosen to lead. He killed without hunger or sympathy, he simply killed. He didn’t care if the beast had a family it went home to, whether they were born or bitten. A beast was a beast, and the only good beast was a dead one. But he didn’t hunger for the kill either, he didn’t take pleasure in the screams or the crying like so many did, like Kate did. He didn’t notice the sharp tang of blood, or the rush of adrenaline a hunt left. The pure, unadulterated surge of power that came from a successful hunt was packed away and ignored.

He went home, cleaned his weapons, drank a glass of water and went to bed. He avoided thinking of terms like ‘post-hunt ritual’. It wasn’t about that, it was about doing the right thing, hunting those that hunted us. He was the undisputed champion of compartmentalising and these small details were what made it possible to survive.

Scott’s look of almost disgust when he asked how Chris was so calm as he coached his dead daughter's group of misfit friends with their cover story, was a look that haunted him. It wasn’t the first time his calm had unnerved someone. All he could think though, was what Allison would think of him doing this so easily metres from her cooling corpse. Would she hate him a little for it? Or would she understand and appreciate what he was doing to protect her friends?

Kate had been meant for leadership but she had always been better suited to the role of a soldier. She’d loved the hunt, hungered for it in a way Chris had spent his whole life pretending he didn’t see. Gerard had been so proud.

Women and men displayed symptoms of abuse differently, Chris had learnt at college, sitting in a full lecture hall of bored, hungover teens. His mind had flickered to Kate during that lecture, he compared her with himself, though his mind instinctively shied away from the term ‘abuse’ in regards to their upbringing. It wasn’t abuse, it was training. It was what made him the best, what made Kate fierce. Affection was not the Argent way.

It was easy to call Kate psychopathic when she was dead, to remember her wild eyes and snarling mouth, to think of the Hale fire and the hundred things she has done since. It was harder to think of the small blonde girl who used to wet the bed, whose hand had been so small in Chris’ own child-sized hand.

It hurt to think of her tearful eyes and quivering lips when she failed again and again as a little girl, eight years old and not tough enough to escape, to land the hit, to handle the weapon.

Kate was not naturally inclined to the violence of their upbringing, unlike Chris, who flourished. It was something she had to learn and it was only after she had learnt it, that Chris realised everything she’d had to lose to achieve it. Chris’s sister was gone, and in her place, was a young girl who could handle a gun with steady hands and who could look into the eyes of the beast she was killing. He doesn’t want to examine what puberty had done to further ruin her, what that kind of mindset could do to a young girl on the brink of womanhood or why so often she chose seduction as her weapon of choice. He’d argued with Kate a lot about how he raised Allison, Kate believed in their fathers’ teachings, but Chris couldn’t bear the thought of his daughter hungering for the kill like his sister.

Killing was sexual. That was something every hunter learnt one way or another. Adrenaline, violence, physical exhaustion and the feeling of playing god, even for a split second, is a heady mix. It’s visceral in a way nothing else can be. You are never more connected to something than when you are taking its life in your hands and deciding upon its fate. In some ways, you carry your victims with you for the rest of your life, though you can’t see them, they stick to you.

***

The apartment feels hollow without Allison, like the house did after Victoria died. It’s strange to think how much space a person takes up in a home without having to be there; and how quickly that presence vanishes, leaving hollow emptiness when they die.

The police asked the same questions they always do in these situations and Chris plays his part, they offered their condolences and left him to the emptiness. He needs to sleep, organise and clean his weapons, to drink some water and to get some space between him and what happened. Isaac trails behind him through the door. With the almost silent click of the door closing, grief hits like a physical blow.

“…I’ve dealt with this before,” _Victoria_ his beautiful warrior of a wife, “I have a capacity and an ability to compartmentalise my emotions.” he says even as his voice quivers and fury races through his veins alongside the sickening decay of grief. Isaac turns to him, eyes red-rimmed, lips quivering and face void of any colour. He looks like he is dying and his voice cracks as he whispers.

“I don’t.” 

Chris feels a rush of control, of purpose at the crumbling boy before him. He pulls him into his arms and holds him tight. Issac's larger frame seeming to fold in on itself and fit perfectly in his arms. He can feel the way Isaacs shakes in his hold, pressing his face into Chris’ neck and breathes deeply. That’s wolf instincts. Boy and wolf combine in his arms. It’s the boy that sobs and holds on, it’s the wolf that presses closer and breathes deeply into his neck.

He feels instinct rear its head within him, he has to protect this boy, the boy who flinches from people without realising, who plays at arrogant indifference to hide his insecurities, who made his daughter laugh and smile, who wears layers of clothing as some form of physical protection he no longer needs against the world. Chris knows about My Lahey, Allison’s muttered explanations and his own investigation into why he’d been chosen for the bite combined with his own understanding of the side effects of abuse. Chris wonders if it says something about him that he’d preferred Isaac pursuing his daughter to Scott. Scott was foolish and young and was so terribly in love it put him and Allison headlong into unnecessary danger.

But Allison’s dead now.

They stay in the hallway together for a while, clutching at each other and allowing the hollowness of the apartment to settle in their bones. Chris moves his hand from the tear in the shoulder of Isaac’s jacket to the back of his neck where he grips tight. Isaac melts further into his hold, his muscles unclenching and his breath finally settling. Chris tugs once at the meat there, before pulling away.

They move through the house, him to his study to look for answers, Isaac to Allison’s room.

The battle goes on, Chris packs away his sadness and allows the soldier to step forward. He does his job, as he was raised to do. Fires straight, fights strong. He does what he was always meant to do.

Isaac fights beside the ragtag group of teenagers his daughter loved and they win. Against all odds, they win.

***

They take the Nogitsune to the Argent vault in France where it will remain undisturbed. They don’t think too hard about why Isaac comes with him, leaving his foster family, his pack and school behind him.  

They settled quickly, the wolf in Isaac craved stable territory and Chris wanted some time to think. The Argents property dates back generations and is the perfect escape. Chris speaks the language and they both need to get away from Beacon Hills for a little while.

Isaac doesn’t speak French but he’s tired of playing well adjusted and the isolated property outside Marseilles suited them both well. The wolf is unruly after Allison’s death, grief will do that to a wolf either bitten or born. They feel the loss more acutely than a human allows itself to. As a result, the change becomes less controlled and the wolf wilder. Chris was taught how to use this to his advantage when he was twelve years old.

The first few weeks are quiet. They’re two strangers sharing space. Isaac is quiet and keeps to the small bedroom he’s adopted, claiming territory. It has a view over the back yard and the trees it backed onto. He stands at the window some nights, watching the moon.

He should have been restrained. Maybe it was some latent death wish Chris hadn’t realised he had, or maybe it was arrogance and he really believed if it came down to it, he could take the emotionally damaged werewolf living in his guest room.

Isaac seesawed between a silent shadow who lurked in the corners of the room and flinched from meeting Chris’s gaze, to snarky short tempered and adolescent, picking at scabs and trying to push Chris into a fight. Textbook behaviour for an abused child, but Chris tried not to think about that. He filed it under the other things about Isaac he didn’t want to think about, how he relied on others to make decisions no matter how trivial. How he wanted someone to follow, an alpha to lead him, a father to love him, a friend to watch his back. He had lived in isolation for so long Chris could believe he had never picked these things up as a

He had lived in isolation for so long, Chris could believe he had never picked these things up as a child. If you spent your life hiding the largest part of yourself, you don’t have time or energy to waste on trivial things like how to be well-adjusted. He played at it well, but it frayed occasionally at the edges, wide eyes looking for guidance, a pause after he did something impulsive as though he was waiting for a reprimand.

If Mr Lahey was still alive, Chris would take great pleasure in changing that. He sometimes forgets humans weren’t always the good guys.

Chris remained _Mr Argent_ if Isaac addressed him at all, he remained flighty and younger than his years. His father left imprints on him which he would never be free of. There were so many of them, invisible lines layered one on top of the other dictating his behaviour. Isaac never did a single thing without it being influenced in some way be his father, Chris saw it, he doubted Isaac really understood the impact his father had on him besides the nightmares which haunted him, even now after all he had experienced as a wolf.

Most people would be haunted by the death of his pack mates, the slaughter of wolves, the agony of a turning, the death of Allison, the wild untamed emotions of a new wolf. The Beacon Hills pack had experienced more horrors than most people ever would. But it was never that which woke Issac in cold sweats, which haunted his closed eyes. They were woven in, sure, they couldn’t not be, but it was the cold suffocating quiet of a prison the size of a coffin and the bright flare of fear for his father which haunted him.

They developed a quiet routine. Chris would go to the local shops twice a week and pick up enough food for the two of them. They would eat each meal together in the quaint kitchen, overlooking the yard. Chris would work in the study each day for a couple of hours, run the business and stay connected with the hunting community, before preparing dinner for the two of them.

In the evening Isaac would curl up on the couch and read, watch TV or doze. Chris would sit beside him and go through some paper work or read his own novel. Eventually, they would both retire to their separate rooms where they would stare up at the darkness, or toss and turn fitfully.

Chris woke each morning before dawn to train, like he was raised to do. Each morning he passed by Isaac’s room, sometimes he saw him standing at the window -his thin form like ivory in the pre-dawn light. His curls a tousled mess as his hair grew longer, his sweat pants riding low on his whipcord lean body and his arms wrapped tight around himself- they never said anything, though Chris would watch him for a moment and Isaac must know he was there. If anything, he’d have heard his heart which Chris imagined was loud in the silence of the early morning.

***

Chris was in the garden constructing a set of targets he would place around the property for his training, when Isaac spoke. “The old man down the road is watching porn.” 

Chris looked up and blinked at him. Isaac was leant against the patio door, his head cocked to the side as he looked off into the distance. Chris followed his gaze to the house on the far side of the property.

“Is it French?” he asked, because there was nothing else to really say to a thing like that.

Isaac looked away from the house and back at Chris, he frowned and seemed to pout as Chris went back to the task at hand. He shrugged and watched Chris work.

“Don’t know, it’s mostly moaning.” he said at last. Chris nodded, as though that made sense.

Isaac stayed by the house watching Chris work and soaking up the warm sunshine. When Chris finished his last target he set his tools aside and shepherded Isaac inside for lunch. Isaac never requested anything particular to eat, he ate what Chris put in front of him, seemingly more pleased with not having to make a decision with each day that passed.

The next day, Chris was in the office organising forms for a weapons shipment back in the US, he was frowning down at the paperwork when he felt the presence at his doorway. Isaac was leaning against the frame watching him work, he had the sleeves of his top pulled over his hands and seemed to hold himself absently.

“I feel like I want to tear someone apart.” He looked sullen, which was at odds with what he was saying. Chris lay the paper aside and settled his hands on the desk. “I’m… restless.” Isaac continued as he moved his gaze to the wood panelled wall, which he studied with more intensity than it needed.

“It’s the full moon tomorrow.” Chris offered when it looked like Isaac wasn’t going to continue. Isaac shot him a look and Chris wanted to smile at how utterly adolescent it was.

“I know that. I don’t…” Issac trailed off, flicking his gaze to Chris’ face and away. “I don’t wanna…” he growled in frustration and it’s a testament to how long Chris has been a hunter that that noise doesn’t send a shiver of fear through him. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Isaac’s size and smart mouth make it easy to forget that he is so young. Argents grow up fast, they have to because they have a tendency to not live that long. Chris supposes he can’t really be blamed for forgetting that Isaac is sixteen years old, only recently a werewolf and now living in a strange country with a man he barely knows. A lot of werewolves don’t handle the death of a pack member well, and one who is still so new to it and has lost so many pack mates is more unstable than Chris wants to think about.

“What does your alpha do to prepare you?” Chris asked. Isaac looks mildly insulted at the suggestion that he couldn’t control himself but answered anyway.

“He doesn’t anymore because I can control myself,” he says, snidely, “but he used to restrain us, induce the healing.” Chris feels a flare of disgust at the barbarism of wolves, the ugliness of it all, but he smothers that and ignores Gerard’s voice which tries to rise up in the back of his mind. Humans can be cruel too.  

Chris feels a flare of disgust at the barbarism of wolves, the ugliness of it all, but he smothers that and ignores Gerard’s voice which tries to rise up in the back of his mind. Humans can be cruel too.  

“Do you need that tomorrow?” he asked gently. Isaac nods, barely staying long enough for Chris’s answering nod before turning and disappearing into the back of the house.

***

The Argent property had a secured basement built into the original designs. These were updated and reinforced by each subsequent generation. The space was generous, soundproofed and well stocked.

They made their way down there just before moonrise the following night, Isaac dressed in worn sweats and an oversized shirt. He remained barefoot despite the natural chill of the underground room. He moved sedately across the room when instructed, sat where told and offered his arms up to Chris without direction. His muscles quivered under his clothes and his breaths were even and steady, forcibly so. He seemed to relax when the strong manacles closed around his wrists and the chain barely moved when he tugged on it. For the first time in a while, Isaac seemed completely calm. He settled into the ground and rested his head against his restrained wrists, breathing a sigh of relief as he waited for the moon.

Chris sat at the far corner of the room and watched him. When the moon rose, Isaac didn’t even fight the transformation, allowing it to come over him like a wave. He howled and growled, pacing the little space he could before Chris tossed a couple of dead rabbits his way. Isaac would hate himself a little in the morning for the enthusiasm he pounced on the small forms with, but Chris believed in following your instincts. Better rabbits then himself, or Chris.

***

Nights later, Chris woke to darkness with a start and assessed his surroundings. Isaac’s voice was roughened with sleep as he huddled in on himself in the doorway. “There is a tap dripping somewhere in the house.” he said. Chris didn’t lift his head from his pillow, muttering into the fabric knowing Isaac would hear him.

“So find it and turn it off.” He heard Isaac shuffle off and listened for the next little while as he wandered the house from sink to sink. He returned a little while later, just as Chris was beginning to doze off again.

“I think it’s next door.” he said gloomily. Chris huffed and rolled over. Glancing at the shadows that made up the young man.

“Did you try the tap outside?” he asked. Isaac moved off without another word and he heard him leave the house via the back patio and return a moment later. He climbed the stairs and returned to his own room. Chris sighed into the darkness and allowed sleep to reclaim him. The next morning they didn’t talk about it.

 At lunch, Isaac looked up from the salad he was hunched over, he smirked before skewering a piece of chicken with his fork and shoving it in his mouth enthusiastically.

“You’re growing a beard. Very wild man of the woods.” he said around his mouthful of chicken. Chris couldn’t decide whether he preferred Isaac when he was cowering and sad, weighted down by the world and unwilling or unable to hide it anymore, or when he was brash and snarky, hiding behind sarcasm and rolling eyes. He'd been flinging himself from one extreme to the other for days now and Chris thought fondly of Allison when she was being hormonal and irrational.

Chris couldn’t decide whether he preferred Isaac when he was cowering and sad, weighted down by the world and unwilling or unable to hide it anymore, or when he was brash and snarky, hiding behind sarcasm and rolling eyes. He'd been flinging himself from one extreme to the other for days now and Chris thought fondly of Allison when she was being hormonal and irrational.

“You just wish you could grow a beard Wolf-Boy.” Chris had learnt the best way to handle Isaac when he was like this was by rolling with it, getting as few hits in as he could without encouraging more. It was a fine balance, but one he found himself suited to.

Isaac bared his teeth in a grin, eyes flashing yellow even as he blushed and ducked his head. The wolf was closer to the surface when he was like this and Chris wondered idly if he should encourage it. Isaac's face went slack, like it did when he was concentrating on something. His gaze snapped back to Chris and he shoved another forkful of salad into his mouth, a flush rising on his cheeks and turning the tips of his ears red as he grinned cheekily at Chris.

“Mr Next-Door is watching porn again.” he said cheerfully. Chris rolled his eyes and picked through his own lunch. “I think it is English, a girl just asked Daddy for more.” he continued contemplatively. Chris paused mid-bite, not looking up from his bowl and firmly didn’t think how that sentence sounded coming out of Isaac’s mouth. They continued eating with Isaac exercising his senses, spying on the area surrounding the house and sharing his findings.

*** 

There have been times in Chris’s life where hunting took a back seat to normal human activities. When he was sixteen, he nearly lost an arm in a hunt and was benched for three months while he healed and got the strength back. At eighteen, he'd spent two months at college deliberately ignoring all whiffs of the supernatural in some cliché attempt to rebel against his family. An omega had stumbled into town and started hunting people so he had no other choice but to man up and do his job. When Allison was born they dialled the hunting back, Victoria and Chris organised the groups and oversaw training, not actively hunting but ensuring each hunt was covered by a competent group.

Chris hadn’t hunted or looked for a hunt since they finished off the Nogitsune. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t restless, that’s why he kept training, ensuring his aim didn’t slacken, his stamina didn’t decrease. It was a strange feeling to be so divorced from the job, sure he worked at least two hours a day on logistics and organisation over the phone and internet to various hunting families, finding information and arranging backup when necessary and he trained for three hours every morning, but he himself wasn’t fighting. He was going through the motions, so when he does eventually return he’ll be as good as he’s always been. He trains because that’s what he was raised to do.

That didn’t mean he wanted to acknowledge the clawing restlessness, a thrum of energy that grew sharper with each week that passed without a hunt. The weight of his weapons in his hands soothed a little, but the restlessness grew, no matter how much he trained.

He barely left the house except to do a grocery run in the small town nearby. He hadn’t seen a supernatural creature except for Isaac since they’d arrived at the property, and outside of the work phone calls and vague pleasantries exchanged in town, he hadn’t spoken to anyone else either. He wondered if Isaac was going stir crazy, not speaking to anyone at all except for Chris, occasionally he’d chat with his friends online, but for the most part, he stayed inside or wandered into the woods that backed onto the property.

Maybe that explained his near-nightly appearances at Chris’s door. He hovers just behind the threshold, sticking to the darkness of the hall. Sometimes he talks, other times he just stands there as though sheer proximity was enough. Chris always woke without prompting. Vigilance too ingrained in him to ignore and a wolf at his bedroom door.

“Dogs are fighting.” He says one night. Chris strains to hear and he eventually catches it, a noise at the edge of his hearing that he supposes could be dogs, though quite some distance off. He looks back at Isaac and sees how tense he is. Chris imagines the noise must be painful to someone with such sensitive enhanced hearing.

***

“The woman living down the road is muttering in her sleep.”

“There’s a dead bird on the roof.”

“The shift hurts, every time.”

***

“I think the woman living down the road thinks I’m some underage sex slave you’ve got locked away.” Issac said contemplatively. Chris settled his head back on his pillow and let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

“Probably.” He rumbled. Isaac shifted again, uncrossing and recrossing his arms.

“Doesn’t it bother you? Her thinking your some skeevy old dude who fucks little boys?”

“You’re hardly a little boy Isaac.” Chris sighed, “She can think whatever she wants, as long as she lets me buy our bread.” Isaac ducked his head and turned, melting back into the darkness. Chris rolled over and went back to sleep.

Isaac ducked his head and turned, melting back into the darkness. Chris rolled over and went back to sleep.

***

“I’m really craving meat.” Chris was already awake this time. He’d been reading in bed and glanced up when Isaac spoke.  “There’s some in the freezer.” He glances back down but doesn’t continue reading when Isaac doesn’t move away. He looks back up and Isaac is shifting uncomfortably in the doorway, chewing nervously on his lip and clutching absently at his arms.

Chris was already awake this time. He’d been reading in bed and glanced up when Isaac spoke. 

“There’s some in the freezer.” He glances back down but doesn’t continue reading when Isaac doesn’t move away. He looks back up and Isaac is shifting uncomfortably in the doorway, chewing nervously on his lip and clutching absently at his arms.

“Can I…” he seems frustrated at himself and huffs nervously into the darkness. Chris sets the book aside, grabbing a t-shirt from the chair next to his bed and moving past Isaac into the dark hallway.

“Come on, I want a sandwich anyway.” he says as he makes his way down the dark hall. Isaac follows him silently and keeps his eyes averted when Chris hands him the cooked meat. He thanks him quietly and keeps his frame as small as possible sitting at the kitchen counter at two in the morning, shirtless and young looking.

***

“There’s a dog that won’t stop barking.”

“I miss her.”

“Someone’s burnt some bread.”

***

“Mr Next-Door is watching porn again.” Issac opens. Chris stares up at the darkness, unsettled. “It’s Daddy porn again.”

Chris grits his teeth against the way ‘daddy’ rolls out of Isaac’s mouth. He doesn’t like what that inspires, doesn’t like why it inspires anything when it never has before. As a young man he’d always rolled his eyes at the girls who played on father issues and the desires of older men. As a father, he was unsettled by it. And as a man, he thought of it as strange, mostly harmless and decidedly _someonelsesproblem_.

There was something about Isaac which reorganised the wiring Chris had lived with his whole life and nudged at something different, at perhaps understanding what others had found so appealing in this over-used, over-exposed, emotionally compromised kink. He pushed it all aside, locked it away and turned his head to look at Isaac in his doorway.

“Stop listening.” he grumbled. Isaac rolled his eyes.

“I’m sixteen. I hear porn, I’m going to tune in. I can’t help it.” he said. Chris huffs a laugh and scratches at the thick stubble on his face and neck.

“Then stop telling me about it. I’m the one that has to look at the man in the shops.” Which is true. The fact had popped into his head when he nodded to the man in town and had resulted in his pleasant smile looking more like a grimace of pain.

“How come you never watch porn? Or do you watch it with the sound off?”

“We’re not discussing this.”

***

 “Did you spill gun oil on something?”

He had. He’d spilt it on his shirt when he was cleaning a couple of his guns before he went to bed. He knew he still had some of it smeared across his forearm and the shirt lay on the top of the hamper in the corner of the room. He nods.

“You always smell like gun oil, like it’s a part of you. It shouldn’t be comforting.” Issac said thoughtfully. Chris agrees, though he finds the smell reassuring, it’s a smell from childhood which has followed him through all the best and worst moments in his life. Sense memory is the strongest, but when good and bad memories war so tightly, it simply becomes a constant.

Chris is too tired to engage, he’d barely been asleep what felt like five minutes before Isaac arrived in his doorway. Without a word he rolled to the far edge of the bed, pulling the covers back in an obvious invitation. He’ll deal with the consequences and connotations in the morning, right now his bones ached for sleep, his head throbbed and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and just switch off. There just wasn’t enough in him this evening to humour the sad wolf.

There was a beat and Chris had almost fallen asleep before the shuffling of fabric signalled Isaac’s decision. He crossed the room silently and slipped into bed causing the least disturbance he could. Chris fell asleep, Isaac’s tense body clinging to the edge of the mattress barely nudging his awareness.

Chris sleeps deeply and well. When his body wakes him at his usual time, Isaac sleeps on, long limbs flung out above him and face pressed into the pillow. He breaths deep and doesn’t so much as twitch when Chris climbs out of bed.

Isaac doesn’t emerge until Chris has finished making breakfast three hours later, which is unusual. He sits down at the table still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Chris places the food down in front of him and he stares at it blankly before Chris settles in his own seat and has taken his first bite.

“Eat.” He commands and Isaac does without protest.

Once Isaac has settled into his meal Chris allows himself to survey him. He looks well rested for once, his pale skin fresh looking and he looks softer around the edges somehow, as though some unnamed tension has been leached from his frame. They don’t mention the night before. And when Isaac appears at his bedroom door that night, Chris offers the bed wordlessly and Isaac accepts with a ducked head a bright flare of red across his cheeks and a tentative smile.

They don’t mention the night before. And when Isaac appears at his bedroom door that night, Chris offers the bed wordlessly and Isaac accepts with a ducked head a bright flare of red across his cheeks and a tentative smile.

***

Chris finds Isaac huddled in the space between his bed and the window in the guest room days later. Claws are growing and disappearing from his hands and he shudders and whimpers between sub-vocal growls.

Chris steps tentatively into the room. He stands some distance away and doesn’t approach.

“Isaac.” He keeps his voice low and steady, doesn’t allow any tension to bleed into the word. Isaac whimpers again as his claws press into his own flesh. It heals the moment the claws pull out, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, “Isaac, I need you to calm down.” His claws pierce his skin again and Chris wonders if Isaac even realises he’s doing it. “Isaac. I can’t help you if you don’t calm down.” Something must be getting through to him, because Isaac pulls his arms away from himself in a couple of jerky movements and he cocks his head towards Chris’s direction. “I’m going to come closer, is that okay?”  Isaacs head jerks in what Chris takes as a nod. He moves slowly across the room, sitting on the end of the bed, still with enough space between them so as not to crowd the panicked werewolf. Isaac watches him with wide, golden eyes. His breaths are shuddery and uneven. Chris wonders what happened to unhinge the boy so much. He rests his hands on the comforter either side of him and tries to make his heartbeat remains steady.

Isaac twitches violently seemingly without reason, tearing at his torso without noticing. Chris watches a smear of blood appear before the flesh heals. “Isaac, I need you to stop hurting yourself.” he said calmly. Isaac whines and Chris casts a quick look around the room. Isaacs belt is lying on the floor beside Chris’ boot and he gives it a considering glance. “Isaac, will you let me restrain your arms?”

It would do him either good or bad, it’s hard to tell with someone like Isaac. In some ways, it would be a calming thing to be restrained and therefore no longer in danger of hurting himself and those around him, it’s something which can offer great reassurance to someone who is no longer in control. On the other hand, Wolves and boys who have spent a lot of their time restrained don’t always associate restriction with good things.

Isaac stares up at Chris, it looked like he was using every enhanced sense he had to determine Chris’ intentions. Chris remained still, posture relaxed, hands at his side and expression open and honest. Eventually Isaac jerked a nod. And Chris nodded in return before reaching down and picking up the belt from the floor, Isaac watching his every movement with glowing golden eyes. With a gesture Chris motioned Isaac forward. He moved slowly, still wary but willing to trust.

Chris looped the belt around Isaacs wrist crossed in front of him and tried to ignore the intensity which Isaac watched his hands with. When he buckled it together and tested the strength and grip on the gentle skin of Isaac’s wrist with a few quick tugs of his fingers, Isaac held still, relaxing when Chris pulled his hands away and returned them to the comforter and away from Isaac.

There was a beat of stillness between them as Isaac tested his restraints with quick movements, though not using his wolf strength, allowing the boy he was meant to be to test the boundaries and take comfort in the security of the belts’ hold. Chris watched him absently, allowing the silence to settle between them as Isaac wound down, whines and growls tapering off and his muscles stopped quivering and his nails stopped elongating and shifting back.

Isaac leant forward, resting his forehead against Chris’ thigh, a barely there pressure as though he was prepared to be shoved aside or for Chris to complain at the familiarity. Chris didn’t and after a moment Isaac settled more solidly against Chris, his head growing heavy and eventually his breath evening out.

Chris slowly moved his hand to rest of the nape of Isaac’s neck, he felt the tremble that went all the way through the young boy at the touch and the way he rubbed his face against the rough denim encasing Chris’ thigh. His fingers wandered to Isaac’s curls and rubbed absently at his neck, occasionally gripping the meat of it and giving it a reassuring tug.

They sat in silence, Chris looking out the window at the bright afternoon sunlight filling the backyard, he watched the way the wind moved through the trees at the back of the yard and the occasional bird which darted between the foliage. Isaac remained still and relaxed leant against Chris’ lap, body relaxing and any tension which had provoked such a visceral reaction within the wolf melted away. 

Isaac craves touch, but hates himself for it. Chris has observed this about him before but it had never seemed more obvious than it does now. He’d observed him around his pack mates back in Beacon Hills, pressing close even as he corrected himself and given them space. His instinct was to touch, to seek comfort and reassurance in the physical, but from a lifetime of training has learnt this instinct is wrong.

As Chris ran his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck he thought about himself and his own upbringing. His father had never offered comfort, be it physical or verbal, it wasn’t his way. When Kate was little she often sought it in Chris, though as she grew older this seemed to be trained out of her. Chris had no delusions about her virtue, Kate had been a sexual woman, you simply had to look at her to see that and Chris had known too many hurt and damaged women and men who sought a perceived comfort in anonymous sex. He had himself on occasions, though that was a long time ago, before Victoria, when he was angry and bitter, newly let loose into the wilds of college.

Isaac was still so young, he hadn’t yet learnt to hide his loneliness and fears in another’s body, he was like a child looking for comfort but with adolescent desires and animal instincts. His cocky pretence and snarky attitude were the first firm layers of a new identity he was creating to protect himself, helped by the presence and influences of his pack and hardened by his upbringing. Chris supposed a sudden uprooting to a foreign country would do something to weaken the shell he had started building with the confidence boost that came with the bite.

***

That night Chris hadn’t even made it into bed before Isaac appeared at his doorway, eyes wide and imploring. Chris nodded him towards the bed and Isaac moved quickly across the room, settling in to the bed and fidgeting restlessly with the covers which pooled in his lap, leaving his bare torso exposed, in an attempt to seem relaxed.

Chris paused before removing his shirt, vague embarrassment or propriety staying his hand, though the thought was stupid, this was hardly the first time they had shared a bed and far from the first time Isaac, who had made near nightly visits to his bedroom door, had seen him topless. He pulled off his shirt and placed it on the chair next to his bed as he did every night. Isaac watched him from below lowered lashes a flush to his cheeks as he fidgeted restlessly. Chris felt painfully aware of the scars which littered his body. He’d been a soldier his whole life, he’d gotten his first scar when he was four years old. Though as his skill grew, the wounds became less serious and less frequent. 

He climbed into bed and allowed himself to relax. Beside him, Isaac breathed deeply holding himself still, but no longer stiff in the close space.

***

“You’re going grey old man.” Isaac shot him a cheeky grin over the cover of the book he was reading. Chris rolled his eyes and ignored him. “It suits you.” Isaac assured him, “Very distinguished.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a brat?” Chris asked mildly as he scrubbed potato’s in the kitchen sink. Isaac huffed a laugh and set his book aside, seemingly lost interest and instead turning his attention to Chris.

“It’s a compliment!” Isaac laughed, a flush rose rapidly to his cheeks and he looked away, scratching at the back of his neck as he huffed another laugh, Chris watched him curiously out of the corner of his eye. “I bet you could totally be in one of Mr Next Doors videos.”

“Surprisingly Isaac, that’s not that big a compliment.” Isaac grinned cheekily but his cheeks remained red. He fiddled absently with his book and remained silent for a beat.

“I’m serious though, you’re aging well.” Chris closed his eyes and let the potato’s rest on the bottom of the sink before rolling his head to the side and looking at Isaac sardonically.

“Why thank you Isaac, that’s very kind.” He drawled, Isaac smiled and watched him return to the potato’s in silence.

***

Chris is on the phone while simultaneously sorting through three piles of paper for the correct order form when he feels Isaac at the door to his study. He avoids this room, especially when Chris is working, perhaps he sees it as Chris’ territory, or maybe he doesn’t like the array or weapons and paraphernalia around the room.

Chris looks up and Isaac is looking around the room curiously. His eyes linger on Chris’ dismantled gun where he’d left it on the side table after his training. Chris looked back down at the forms in front of him having found the one he wanted.

Isaac moved through the space tentatively as Chris finished up his phone call, his attention flicked from his phone call and Isaac as he made his way around the room, pausing at an open crate of restraints Chris had brought up from the basement a few days before. Chris hung up and put his phone on the table top, turning his attention to Isaac who fidgeted and looked uncomfortable in Chris’s territory.  

“Will you ever go back to Beacon Hills?” Isaac doesn’t look at him and Chris leans back in his chair and runs his fingers through his beard as he studies the younger man.

“I might. I haven’t really thought about it. I might have to if the supernatural continues to be drawn there.” Isaac nods absently.  

“And you can do that? Just go back there and do your job, ignoring the fact your whole family…” he trailed off, obviously realising there was only one way to end that sentence and it wasn’t exactly sensitive. “I mean, after everything you could go back there and save the day?”

“It’s not about saving the day or what has happened to my family there, it’s my job, it’s what I was raised to do and something I believe needs to be done. I go where I have to, and Beacon Hills, however unpleasant my memories may be, is a beacon for the supernatural.” Isaac doesn’t look pleased but he nods his understanding as he fidgets absently with a length of rope in the crate. “Will you?” Chris asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t really have a reason to.” It was the most frank Isaac had been about it, he hadn’t really said anything when he’d left with Chris beyond assuring him his foster family wouldn’t send the police looking for him and that he wanted to come.

“What about your pack?”

“What pack? The alpha who turned me is no longer an Alpha, Erica and Boyd are dead, I’ve never really known Stiles, Lydia is a scary as shit Banshee, Kira is taking Allison’s place so fast it kills me and Scott’s… well Scott dealing with so much shit at the moment with Allison and becoming an Alpha and Kira he has no time for me. I’m not a priority. What good am I to them? Why would the pack need me?” The last was muttered as though he hoped Chris wouldn’t hear it. The question made empathy settle deep in Chris’ gut like a weight.

“That’s not really how a pack works. It’s a unit, a family.”

“Well I’ve never really had a family, and when I eventually did get one, they abandoned our alpha for greener pastures and wound up dead.” Isaac looked weighed down by the admission, as though it more than anything else he had been through in his life was what really broke him.

“There’s nothing in Beacon Hill’s you’d go back for?”

“There’s nothing for me.” There was no question or hesitation in his voice just the bitterness of disappointment and the sick acid of resignation. “I have no alpha. No father. I have no one.” It wasn’t angry or petulant, just the simple stating of a fact.

“You have me.” Isaac’s eyes are wide and the iris is rimmed in gold as though the wolf is too close to the surface, but not warring with the boy, at one with him. “Come here.” He commands, voice gentle but strong.

Isaac approached without hesitation, as though he’d been waiting for exactly that his whole life. He reached Chris’s side in a matter of seconds and he stood beside Chris’s desk chair, head bowed and eyes wide. With a gesture from Chris Isaac sank to his knees beside him and Chris reached forward to run his fingers through his curls. Isaac’s eyes fluttered shut at the tender touch and Chris felt his lips quirk in a smile.

“I want to have you.” Isaac murmurs as he leans his head forward to rest once more on Chris’s thigh. “I want to have all of you, but you’ll leave me too when you realise what that means.”

It felt like a knife twisting in Chris’s gut, because he had a feeling he did know what that meant. He knew what he wanted from it and he was equally hopeful and terrified of it being the same thing.

Chris wanted Isaac as he was, obedient and calm, seeking contact and affection from Chris. He wanted to see Isaac relaxed and happy as he was when Chris left him to sleep each morning. He wanted him snarky and eavesdropping on the neighbours, seeking and finding acknowledgment from him each evening. He wanted to share his meals with the boy and sit with him in lounge room.

There was darker desires too though, and he tried desperately to ignore them hovering on the peripheral of his thoughts, thoughts of how beautiful Isaac was, pale and unblemished, long limbs and wide eyes. His warmth when they shared a bed, how calm he looked restrained and the frisson that exploded through him when he was the one to restrain the wolf. His desires ran deeper, into carnal, visceral pleasures, but he’d trained himself to not let his thoughts wander there, especially in the presence of a werewolf.

Chris sighed and tugged on a lock of hair as he looked down at Isaacs head resting in his lap.

“I don’t think I will.”  They breathed together for a moment more before Chris leant down and kissed Isaac’s curls, he paused there as he breathed the scent of his shampoo and skin. For the wolf within, he rubbed his bearded chin against the short curls at Isaac’s nape and breathed against the skin, scent marking. Isaac shuddered and grew slack against Chris’s lap letting out a tentative moan.

Chris pulled back and let his fingers return their combing through Isaac’s hair and pretended he didn’t hear the shuddery relieved way Isaac breathed into the denim under his face. Boy and wolf combine in his arms and find safety there.

***

Isaacs hands are soft skinned and long fingered, very different to the calloused scarred texture of Chris’ own which scratched and rubbed against the soft skin of Isaac’s torso as he traced his way up from his waist, up his arms and to his wrists, holding them up and together as he expertly wrapped the length of military grade black rope around the strong but thin wrists. Chris wanted to let his hands explore every inch, to find any imperfection and linger there, to press against the bite wound, the only wound that would never heal completely on him.

Chris didn’t want to mark Isaac, he didn’t want to harm him at all really. That skated too close to his own occupation and Isaac’s own traumas. No, he wanted to possess Isaac, to take control of him entirely and allow Isaac the freedom of belonging. He wanted to offer him security and protection, to ground him in reality and to let him be the weaker person for once, but utterly safe in that position.

The restraints weren’t strong enough to hold the wolf; they would have held the boy he was meant to be, but they were nothing against the strength of an emotional werewolf. Despite this, Isaac sunk into the hold, his muscles relaxed and he seemed to melt as though the need to control and dictate the movements of his arms had been taken from him and with it, a great burden. Chris sat back and watched in silence. The bright glow of the afternoon sun painted the scene before him in dynamic shadows and highlights the silence of the moment seemed to mute their breaths.

Isaac looked boyish and angelic, blond curls and long lines of unblemished pale skin that was bathed in shadows and torn by sunlight. His wide eyes were closed and his girlishly long lashes rested against this high cheekbones.

The dramatic black of the rope against the pale skin was striking. He looked like some perverted piece of art painted by a master artist. A compelling image. Chris wondered if the worn grey sweatpants Isaac wore helped or hindered this image, whether the fully exposed form would have been too much or whether their presence stopped it from reaching its full potential.

“Please.” Isaac whispered on an exhale

Chris knew he would give him everything, there was nothing in this world he would deny the boy who broke down in his arms over his daughters’ death, who followed him half way across the world and who looked at him sometimes with such wide, hopeful eyes.

Perhaps it was wrong to have developed such a relationship with a young lost werewolf boy. His father would loath it, his wife would be disgusted by it, his sister would hate and punish him for it and his daughter would never have understood it, because she saw the good in the world and not the grey scars the dark left on the light. But they were all gone now, it was just Chris left, Chris and the boy under his hands.

 

 End,


End file.
